The White Hawk And The Raven
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: Branwen has made her choice. Gawain will soon be off again. And Arthur's trust in Morgaine is tested as she takes his new bride away from Viroconium...
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** The White Hawk and The Raven  
  
**Author:** May  
  
**Plot:** Directly after the events in the film 'King Arthur', Morgaine is sent word in Avalon of her half brother Arthur's being named King of Britain. Accompanied by her most beloved priestess Branwen, The Lady of The Lake arrives in time to see her brother wed Guenevere, for a short time of happiness while the Saxons regroup...

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_She'd not been able to believe it, when she first heard the news. The look on her face was so startling to me, both oddly hopeful and vulnerable. I had to repeat what Merlin's messenger had told her, before she could react.  
  
"Lady, your brother Arthur has returned to our people." Saying the words myself, they suddenly hit me with their full weight. Arthur had returned to us, with his father's sword, the sword from our very shores...I could only imagine what it meant to The Lady Morgaine. She turned to me, her dark eyes brightening with the smile that spread across her face that was untouched by age, neither old nor young.  
  
"Oh Branwen," She embraced me, overcome, and then she embraced the surprised messenger in her joy. Her little brother had come back._

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A clouded dream on an earthly night  
Hangs upon the crescent moon  
A voiceless song in an ageless light  
Sings at the coming dawn  
Birds in flight are calling there  
Where the heart moves the stones  
There that my heart is longing for  
All for the love of you  
  
A painting hangs on an ivy wall  
Nestled in the emerald moss  
The eyes declare a truce of trust  
Then it draws me far away  
Where deep in the desert twilight  
Sand melts in pools of the sky  
Darkness lays her crimson cloak  
Your lamps will call, call me home  
  
And so it's there that my homage's due  
Clutch-ed by the still of the night  
Now I feel, feel you move  
And every breath, breath is full  
So it's there my homage's due  
Clutch-ed by the still of the night  
Even the distance feels so near  
All for the love of you  
  
A clouded dream on an earthly night  
Hangs upon the crescent moon  
A voiceless song in an ageless light  
Sings at the coming dawn  
Birds in flight are calling there  
Where the heart moves the stones  
There at my heart is longing for  
All for the love of you

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A barge set sail from Avalon in the early morning, bearing The Lady Morgaine, two of her Woad guards, and two of her most beloved priestesses. The two young women were Eiluned her twenty-six year old cousin, and Branwen, who'd been The Lady's pupil but a year before, and whom was now among the most promising priestesses on the island. Morgaine took a moment as she stood on the barge, to glance behind her at the girl, who sat, surrounded by the mists. Were she younger, Morgaine was sure she and Branwen would have been girlhood friends, yet as it was Morgaine had barely been named Lady of The Lake, at a relatively young age, when Branwen had been brought to Avalon at the age of five by her ailing grandmother, a former priestess herself.  
  
Now Branwen got to her feet, Eiluned following her lead though she was seven years the senior. Branwen had a naturally gentle, commanding presence, coupled with bright brown eyes and the dark, ruddy color to her braids that was so uncommon on their soil. Morgaine thought, not for the first time, that if the goddess saw to it not to grant her a daughter, Branwen would surely be her successor as Lady of The Lake. The young priestess caught her gaze, and smiled.  
  
"Are you anxious, my Lady?" She asked quietly, as the opposite shore came into view. Morgaine sighed.  
  
"No, Branwen," She replied, looking forward, and holding her head high, knowing there were many Woads waiting on shore to escort the Lady of The Lake. "Well, not so very much, at least." Morgaine smirked, "The thought keeps returning to me, however, that I've not even seen my brother yet, and already another woman has her claim to his attentions."  
  
"Ah," Branwen grinned, "But it is Guenevere! Surely you can have no qualms with such a girl."  
  
"Oh indeed, I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather him wed," Morgaine readied herself for their coming ashore, "Aside, perhaps, from my Branwen."  
  
"You'd best not hold your breath for this one wedding any man." Eiluned retorted good naturedly, to which Branwen nodded earnestly.  
  
"A Beltane Fire is as close as I'll ever come to any sort of marriage." She stated boldly, causing even The Lady of The Lake to break into laughter, not to mention the Druid men on shore, who were now within earshot. Never mind that Branwen kept holding back from joining the Beltane rites, secretly petrified by the prospect of bearing a child. Her mother had died birthing her first child, and her mother before her.  
  
"The goddess love thee, Branwen." Morgaine sighed, laughter fading. The mood was so light that morning, as they stepped onto mortal soil, surrounded by their people, who were ready to usher their Lady, their new king's sister, to Arthur's binding. Branwen lifted her face to a clear sky, a rare gift at that time of year, the morning sun falling upon her face, on her forehead that bore the crescent of her station, A Priestess of Avalon...

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**Author Notes:** Well, this should be interesting! I've written enough Fanfiction in my lifetime to choke the Nile, yet this is my first dealing with Arthurian legend...the movie has given me so many plot bunnies. This is also my first time posting on , so please bear with me as I get the hang of things.  
  
Also, for the first time in my life, I really don't know how this one will end...yet. Give me time, and notes while you're at it. I welcome ideas.  
  
Most of my information comes from the film King Arthur, and Marion Zimmer Bradley's book, The Mists Of Avalon. Plus, of course, my own little spin, that is the heartbeat of Fanfiction. The song 'The Mystic's Dream' belongs to Loreena McKennitt. Aside from original characters created by me (Branwen, Eiluned, random others), all characters belong to, well...who can really say who owns Arthur, Morgaine, Gawain? =) Just rest assured that I make no money from this. If I did, I'd have enough money to support my reading habit...which I don't. I'm broke, and it's all due to the stinkin' written word. Stupid books... 


	2. A Voiceless Song

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Twilight had fallen over the Wall, the untrustworthy time of day which was both night and day at once, that was tricky and often bothersome. At least, that was how it seemed to Gawain, standing above the gate and watching the deep blue evening warily. But in a strange way, it was a comforting bother. It was highly difficult to get used to, this new notion of peace. A welcome difficulty, of course, yet Gawain hoped he was at least still kept on his toes. And he knew the twilight would always grant him that, especially on this night. Something strange was on the air, something that felt old, earthy, and entirely unsettling.  
  
No one else seemed particularly bothered, however. Arthur was back and forth between long talks with Merlin and time spent with his soon-to-be bride. Bors and even Galahad were making merry with their drinks and their songs, along with all the other Britains who'd either lived there as long as the post existed, or had come to see the famed man whom Merlin the Druid was proclaiming as their king. Only Gawain wasn't in a celebratory mood, though he was happy enough for sure. All seemed well, and that was something to be happy about. He was just restless; he told himself, and still keenly feeling the loss of his friends. A part of him knew that Lancelot would have understood, he'd been sensitive to things in much the same manner. But Gawain was robbed of his friend...  
  
And so he'd retreated to watch on the Wall, though there wasn't much to watch out for. The Woads were allies (causing only slight discomfort and awkwardness below, as the peoples mixed in Arthur's plan for unity) and the Saxons had been dealt a heavy blow, it was unlikely they would attack again until after a few years, if ever. But Gawain knew something was out there, out there in that shifting, all too beautiful twilight, and it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him, refusing to believe that the land was at peace. A strange itch that kept touching his spine, or an odd sound in his ear that could either be heard as the wind or some thin, feminine voice's whisper...  
  
Sure enough, he had not been standing long watching the evening, when he could pick out a figure, running over grass and to the wall. Even in the twilight, it was obvious to see it was a Woad, a young boy. Gawain made no move for a weapon, simply leaned forward and called down to the boy when he'd reached the gate, catching his breath.  
  
"You've come here alone, boy?"  
  
"I've come as a herald," The boy called back up, still short of breath, obviously reciting what he'd been told to say, as his Druidic accent was halting and unsure, and the wording far too precise for a child's nature. "To tell Merlin that the future King's sister will be here within the hour."  
  
Gawain had no idea how to respond to such an announcement, and stood staring for a moment. He thought he knew everything about Arthur, who'd never once mentioned family beyond his father and his mother. At that moment, the sound was on the air again, this time most distinctly a voice, faint and whispering on the wind that blew up from the grass and the trees, a woman's voice speaking in a language he'd never heard. Wordlessly, Gawain turned, and motioned for the two men who stood by the gate to open it...

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Arthur stood in the square, which was lit by the flickering torches and graced with music flowing from the tavern, Gawain and Guenevere at his side. Gawain hadn't felt the need to spoil Bors and Galahad's fun, over something as simple as meeting guests, and besides, they were finding they did indeed share something other then land with the Woads, and that was love of music and a good drink.  
  
He noted that his commander looked rather troubled, and understandably so. Arthur had insisted to Merlin that he'd not had a sister, but the Druid would only say that he must meet this woman, The Lady of Avalon. Then Merlin was silent, seated within and sending Arthur to meet The Lady without him. Guenevere now noted his uneasy manner, and took his hand, as if to lend him calm, even as she herself were nervous. She knew the Lady of Avalon, had seen her once or twice, and had of course heard the rumors among the tribes, that the famed Arthur was kin to the Lady of The Lake. She'd not taken it seriously, though she had always wondered...but she kept silent. It was best not to assume anything about the magic that lurked in the north; Guenevere would just have to see the events unfold for herself. Gawain, for his part, would have been the picture of calm, were it not for that strange tingle on his spine, returning just as the gates opened for a very old, very simple cart, painted with unknown symbols, in strange patterns, and driven by a female Woad.  
  
"You're sure you could not have a sister?" Gawain asked Arthur softly, as the cart came near, knowing his friend was uneasy. Arthur shook his head.  
  
"I don't know anymore, though it seems quite impossible." He breathed, looking as composed as ever as he all but clung to Guenevere's hand. "My mother wed my father at a very young age, and my father hardly seemed the sort of man to take or even have time for a mistress...he certainly never had a former wife." He sighed, "But anything is possible, how can I know anything for sure?"  
  
He was silent then, for the cart had stopped, and one of the heavily tattooed and painted guards, who looked to have been running alongside the cart on it's journey, hurried to open the door, dropping to his knee as he did so. Guenevere immediately followed suit, her dress pooling out on the smooth stones, and motioned for Arthur and Gawain to do the same. Not wanting to pay disrespect to any Druidic or Woad customs, they did as she said.  
  
There were three women within the cart, the first descending with a hand from her guard, and Arthur saw, out of the corner of his eye, Guenevere's bright smile at seeing her. The woman looked fairly young, perhaps only a little younger then he, with long black hair tied in many thick braids, and blue eyes that seemed familiar to him. She was not beautiful, yet she had a kind, warm look to her, dressed in a shapeless, brightly dyed cloak over a simple fitted, earth-colored dress.  
  
The second to descend was a much younger woman; this one very pretty to look at with bright brown eyes and braided hair that rare color of Vanora's, Gawain found himself noting, as that voice he could not understand whirled by his ear for a moment. She was dressed much the same as the first, and both women had tattoos upon their brows in blue woad, of the crescent moon. They stood on either side of the cart, watching as the last woman stepped down to the square, and when Arthur saw her, he felt an immediate presence of great power.  
  
The Lady of The Lake looked straight at him, with eyes so brightly blue, so like his own, that he was startled. Both Gawain and Guenevere also saw the striking resemblance, the latter wondering why she'd not noticed it before. The same dark hair, the same eyes, the same lips, only where Arthur had his father's tall, strong build, The Lady of Avalon was slim and rather short of stature, though her presence certainly made up for the fact. She could well have been as tall as the high walls....  
  
"Arthur," She spoke after a moment of look at him, smiling, motioning with both hands for all to rise, "I am so glad to finally see you again."  
  
"My Lady," Arthur stepped forward, almost tentatively, it did not seem that such a being should be so tangible. "It is an honor to have you here, I know that you are figure of great importance on this island..."  
  
"And yet you still don't know what to make of me." The Lady said, smiling softly, "Call me Morgaine. Avalon would not miss your crowning as Britain's king, nor your wedding to Guenevere." At this, Morgaine smiled to the girl, "And there is much to discuss, Arthur, both of Avalon..." She added in a softer tone, suddenly seeming less otherworldly, "And between you and I, as I'm sure Merlin has not told you a thing."  
  
"I am discovering that to be his way," Arthur released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, then remembered himself, and his manners, and stepped back, holding Guenevere's hand, "Lady Morgaine, this is Guenevere, who will soon be my bride."  
  
"Yes, we have met." Morgaine smiled, and Guenevere dipped her head.  
  
"I did not think The Lady would remember me," She murmured, and Arthur realized again just how important this woman was, to have his strong-willed Guenevere so reverent.  
  
"I remember all children who ignited the sight in my as strongly as you." Morgaine replied, an undercurrent of power flowing over her words. "I saw great things in your future."  
  
All the while, Gawain had been watching the exchange, still fascinated by the family resemblance, and the first person to make him as uncomfortable as Merlin did, yet now he felt his eyes drawn to where Morgaine's attendants stood. The younger one caught his eye for a moment, and smiled, and he almost didn't realize that Arthur was speaking his name.  
  
"And now Lady Morgaine," He was saying, and Gawain's eyes snapped back to The Lady, who smiled almost knowingly, "I give you one of my loyal knights and most trusted friends, Gawain."  
  
"It is an honor, Lady." Gawain dipped his head, and Morgaine smiled fully.  
  
"For I as well," She replied seriously, "I have heard wonderful things of you and your friends, Sir Gawain." She turned, motioning for her attendants to step forward. "I have brought my two chief priestesses with me, Eiluned," The dark-haired woman bowed, "And Branwen." The younger followed suit, and when her eyes rose they met Gawain's again, for only a moment.  
  
"You are all most welcome." Arthur spoke, Guenevere taking his arm, "And must be tired from your journey. Come inside and refresh, and take dinner with us, Merlin will want to speak with you as well, I'm sure."  
  
"I would love to, we have been on the road for far to long." Morgaine agreed heartily, and Arthur turned, Guenevere at his left side, his esteemed guest to his right, to lead them into what were now his very own halls. The priestesses moved to follow Morgaine, Branwen lingering only a step behind Eiluned, glanced at Gawain once more, then hurried after her Lady. Gawain hesitated outside for only a moment, debating between joining Bors and Galahad, or standing by Arthur...it was a choice quickly made. He followed the priestess inside, while the twilight faded behind him, melting into the dark of starlight...

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**Author's Notes:** Well, I seem to have a plot in my head, hehe. This chapter kept giving me issues, ah well. I am very much enjoying writing this, yes indeed.

To my lone reviewer, I say thank you XD You like hummus. You are cool.


	3. An Ageless Light

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Two rooms had been hastily made ready for Morgaine and her attendants, though the Lady herself went right away to speak with Merlin, not even taking the time to rid herself of travel aches and grime. The truth was, she'd ridden most of the way from Avalon, arriving in cart more for the sake of ceremony. She was saddle sore, she was tired, but her first priority was always her grandfather, Merlin.  
  
Stepping into their room, Branwen and Eiluned felt an immediate scent of death, bittersweet and sorrowful, the sign of a life snuffed out too soon. The former occupant had surely died, and recently. Branwen looked at her friend, and they both whispered a prayer under their breath, the scent slipping from the room peacefully. Then Eiluned proceeded to drop onto the bed with a grateful sigh, as if nothing had happened.  
  
"How long has it been, Branwen?" She sighed, working the aches from her back, as Branwen removed her cloak and set their things to warm by the lit and roaring fire, "Since we've been this far from Avalon? At least 17 years for me."  
  
"I can't remember a time far from Avalon." Branwen murmured in reply, taking out some of her long russet braids, brushing out the tangles and briars...Morgaine was not the only one who preferred riding a horse to sitting in a cart...and letting the smooth waves fall freely about her shoulders and down to her waist. Braids were usually only worn by the novices in Avalon, yet it was so much easier to care for one's hair when they were in. "I was an infant when my father's mother took me from the North. I've little experience with the world, save the villages that border The Lake's shores..." Branwen smirked then; washing her face in the water provided for them by the fire, "So really, we have a lot of catching up to do here, you and I."  
  
"Oh speak for yourself," Eiluned noted deprecatingly, yet not without a touch of good humor, as she rose from the bed reluctantly to remove her own cloak and wash her face, "You're still young, and you have the mind to enjoy that fact."  
  
"You're as young as ever, Eiluned." Branwen laughed at her, but the other priestess shook her head.  
  
"Yes, but I've also given birth to four children, two by the time I was your age. I gave up what is left of my youth long ago in service of the goddess," Eiluned sighed, drying her face, and smiling again, "Oh don't worry, I do intend to enjoy our little midsummer escape. I hear Merlin will be binding Arthur and Guenevere by the Stones, I've always wanted to see them."  
  
"It should be beautiful." Branwen murmured, glancing out the room's one window and out into the fort absently. Music and singing drifted up to her, songs she didn't know, and much laughter, and she sighed...

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_I did not know why I thought of him, Arthur's knight...Gawain, I remembered his name was. Morgaine had always assured me that I had the sight, I'd never been positive, until that evening, as we had been nearing the Wall. Someone had been on the threshold of my senses, and I had softly whispered charms under my breath, searching. It wasn't until I met his eyes that I realized I had been sensing him...and that he had heard me. There, in Eiluned's and my room I was absently musing over it's meaning, even as we spoke together, when I heard the music below.  
  
It was true, all of my nineteen years had been spent either hearing of Avalon, or living there, and I had learned a great many things, becoming a powerful priestess at a young age, proud of my service to the goddess. Yet for a moment, as I stood listening, I wished fleetingly that the great mother had served me differently, just so that I might know the songs..._  
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Making their way to the Hall, Arthur and Guenevere intercepted Gawain and, surprisingly, Galahad as well.  
  
"After Vanora sang a song or two, Bors decided to turn in early." The younger knight explained with a grin and an easy, wine-induced manner, "After that it wasn't as much of a party, so I dug up Gawain and he told me there were women to be seen."  
  
"In not quite so many words." Gawain muttered, giving his friend a light smack on the shoulder. Guenevere laughed, as they entered the great room and seated themselves. Arthur, it seemed, was the only one who was less then jovial, and his lady was quick to notice this, sitting beside him and taking his hand reassuringly. Morgaine was an unsettling presence, for all her kindness, and Arthur was apprehensive at the thought of what she might have to say to him.

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It was only a few moments before their guest made her entrance, her feet hardly stirring a sound on the stone tile floor. All of them rose, Arthur offering her a seat at his left. She smiled as she sat, marveling at the round table, pride swelling in her breast. Her brother had indeed grown to be a wise leader.  
  
Galahad had just been introduced to her and she was wondering what had become of Eiluned and Branwen, when the two priestesses hurried breathlessly into the room in their simple moss green dresses, Branwen's mass of hair flying freely behind her and Eiluned's face as red as berries. The mirth looked rather odd on the formerly composed and ethereal pair who'd descended in the square not an hour before.  
  
"I'm afraid we lost our way for a time," Branwen managed, even as Eiluned looked to be struggling to hold in her laughter. Morgaine raised an eyebrow, but all the elder priestess could do was shake her head, hurrying to compose herself as she sat beside her cousin. Which left Branwen to take her place beside Eiluned and nearly across from Gawain, and she did so biting her lip fiercely, lest her laughter break loose in a most undignified manner. The knight caught her eye, however, and she nearly lost her restraint, a small giggle escaping as Gawain heard a faint curse from down the hall outside the door, sounding suspiciously like Bors. This was a story he would have to hear later, he resolved, grinning to himself at the image of her pretty smile. Branwen's wine was set before her, and she took a long drink, quelling her fit gratefully.

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After a short time, Morgaine set down her wine and stood, looking at Arthur warmly. "I've never been much for ceremony, Artorius," She spoke clearly, using his given name, "And so I will speak plainly. Your wish is to unite all of Britain's peoples, and this brings me much happiness. However the Woads, the Druids, they will follow Avalon first, consequently they need to know that I am your supporter." She explained, "You know well that much of Britain follows the old religion, and as Lady of The Lake, I represent the goddess to them. It is one of the reasons I came so quickly, to bear witness to your crowning, to show my allegiance."  
  
"I am indeed thankful," Arthur rose to reply, "For such a strong ally. I admit, however, that Avalon and the rumors around it are still a puzzle to me. I have sailed on your lake many a time, and seen no temple, no hidden island."  
  
"Old magic," Morgaine stated simply, smiling, "And it's a hidden island, of course you haven't seen it." She went on, apologetically, "Merlin has told me that you are a Christian Arthur, and that is well. And as a genuine follower of that belief, you cannot be two things at once, both a believer in your God and in pagan magic. I can have respect for that. But know that Avalon is a place of great power, and that it will stand on the side of a good and worthy king."  
  
"Again, I accept your allegiance with many thanks." Arthur dipped his head, and Morgaine echoed the action.  
  
"Now, we have more to discuss," Morgaine continued in a much less formal tone, seating herself to further the comfort of all who sat in the room, "About our families...but, perhaps you would wish to speak of such things in private?"  
  
"We are all friends here," Arthur replied quietly, after a long moment, "I do not mind if we are all aware."  
  
"I'm glad," Morgaine murmured, "You know that your father was a roman soldier, who wed a young woman of these shores while posted here." Arthur nodded, and she took a deep breath, "Your mother, Igraine, was but sixteen when she wed your father, young perhaps, but not among our people. She was one of many children fathered by Merlin, the man who sits in you house, whom you have fought against for so long, and have now found peace with." Arthur's eyes had gone wide, and she went on, "As such, Igraine was raised in a deeply spiritual environment, even when she lived far from the Woads. When she was fourteen, she went to the Beltane fires, and I was the result." Morgaine finished in a whisper, and Arthur could only sit back in his chair, stunned. Guenevere rested her hand on his shoulder softly, as the two knights and the two priestesses listened as if under a spell.  
  
"She gave me to Avalon not long after my birth, and I was raised there by her half sister, my aunt Viviane, who was also a daughter of Merlin, and Lady of The Lake before me. I saw you only once..." Morgaine smiled softly at the memory, "I was eight years old, and you were three. Viviane was traveling in disguise, for Woads were still not allowed beyond the wall, to celebrate midsummer in the south. Eiluned," Morgaine touched her cousin's arm, "Her daughter, our cousin, was with us as well. We stopped at the post, briefly, and I saw you in Igraine's arms..." Morgaine was silent for a moment, and then, "I was glad to know that I had a brother."  
  
"Why did she not tell me?" Arthur asked, his voice slightly strained with emotion. Morgaine smiled wistfully.  
  
"Because, Viviane had Seen that the girl-child Igraine would give birth to was to belong to the goddess." She said, simply. "That child would not be a part of her life, other then as her spiritual Elder someday. I...was greatly grieved, when I heard of her passing. I had long looked forward to the day when I could see her freely, as The Lady." Morgaine took a deep breath, and smiled, looking at him, even as Arthur looked back at her with a great deal of conflicting emotions behind his eyes, eyes that were so like hers. "But, now I have you, my brother. And that is enough."

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**Author's Notes:** Oi, this chapter took me SO LONG to finish. I must have rewritten it ten million times, and I think I'm finally pleased with the final result. Introductory chapters always drive me nuts, but now I think I can really get on to the fun stuff =) Fluff on the way, never fear! Plus a few good doses of angst. (Anyone who knows a good ammount of Arthurian legend can probably guess, to an extent, what I'm gonna to do poor Guenevere.)

I'm leaving on thursday for a camping trip that will last until sunday afternoon, and then next friday I leave for Puerto Rico and a week long mission trip. I'll be writing like mad in the between time, never fear, lol.

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Revieeeeew me...especially you IRL peoples, I know you're reading this, lend me some support, will ya? sheash ;-)


	4. Sings At The Coming Dawn

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The night air was sweet, and thick with the scent of summer, and the sound of music, the fast drumming of the Woads. Branwen found herself slipping quietly across the stone paved square, skirts flowing liquidly around her feet, and towards the open tavern. There was plenty of merriment and singing and dancing going on, but the priestess simply slipped discreetly through it all, taking a seat at a small, empty table just inside the tavern. All she really felt inclined to do was watch, and listen to the music that reminded her of home, of Avalon's shores...  
  
"Can I get you something to drink, my Lady?" A woman was asking her, breaking Branwen out of her revere. The barmaid was smiling, with green eyes and curls of red hair the same color as Branwen's, a telltale sign that she had some northern blood in her. The young priestess smiled, to see a somewhat familiar face...in fact, Branwen felt like she had seen the woman before...  
  
"Yes, I'd like that..."  
  
"On the house, it isn't every day I get to meet a priestess," The woman smirked, "And in my own bedroom, at that." At this Branwen turned a deep shade of red, and the maid laughed. "Don't worry, I had a good laugh over it. I'm Vanora." She grinned, "I'll get you something strong, you look like you need it."  
  
"Oh do I," Branwen sighed as Vanora left, and went back to watching the dancing, the hands falling rapidly against the skin of the drums, the woman sitting on Galahad's knee, laughing with a sweet, trilling voice. Branwen found herself studying the woman, who was dark-haired and fair skinned, and quite beautiful. The knight whispered something in her ear, and she gave him a playful smack, before raising her voice to join in the song one of the Woad women started up.  
  
Branwen sighed, more then a little bit envious, but then she quickly chided herself. What right had she to wish herself a different life, when the goddess asked of her a faithful service? Her life in Avalon was a good one, and not to be grudged, and besides, she was a priestess now, and afforded much freedom. Still...it was hard not to wonder what she'd already missed out on.

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She was unaware that eyes lit brightly by the flickering firelight were watching her as well, taking in her slender hands, her long bright hair, and her brown eyes that seemed so far away. Gawain was unable to stop staring at her, and knew that soon she would realize it, and sure enough, her eyes caught his in surprise, and he found himself smiling. Slowly, her full lips spread and smiled back, and Gawain felt his feet move him forward, across the room.  
  
"Would you like some company, priestess?" He asked, and she nodded, still smiling.  
  
"Call me Branwen." She replied softly, as he took a seat at the table.  
  
"Branwen, the Beautiful Raven." Gawain stated with a grin, and she nodded, blushing a bit.  
  
"I don't much look like a raven, but yes." She said, "And Gawain...White Hawk." He nodded.  
  
"While my father served here, my mother met a priestess who gave her son the same name, she liked it." He nodded to her, "What brings you here alone, lady?"  
  
"Eiluned wanted to sleep, and I was restless," Branwen sighed, looking back at the drummers, "The music reminds me of home..." Her eyes shut for a moment, caught in the pulse of the beat and Gawain could not pull his eyes away from her, and her graceful profile, her eyes that seemed so wise, so odd on such a young face.  
  
Vanora returned then, setting a mug of ale before Branwen, "I see this devil has found you," She grinned, "Sure now Lady, and be careful not to get tangled up with a knight, I should know well enough."  
  
"You're too kind, Vanora, blessed mother of half of Arthur's future army." Gawain shot back with a grin, and the barmaid gave him a mock glare.  
  
"Yes, well, at least I'm making some contribution." Vanora turned back to Branwen, smiling, "Now I think I'll turn in for the night for real," She winked, "Are you sure you can find your way back to your own room tonight? Or should I be expectin' another interruption?"  
  
"I think I'll be fine." Branwen grinned, even as she blushed scarlet. Vanora laughed.  
  
"Goodnight priestess," She turned to go, "Gawain don't get that Sarmation stain on her, at least not yet." She threw over her shoulder as she went.  
  
"Interruption?" Gawain queried, grinning as Branwen took a long drink. She noted that this was becoming a nervous habit, alcohol to quell the nerves, and oh how it helped.  
  
"Yes," She coughed, forcing Vanora's last words to her from her mind, "Eiluned and I thought the dining hall was in the opposite direction...I'm afraid we interrupted a um...a knight's good time, shall we say."  
  
Gawain laughed at the mental image this produced, the two fair, composed priestesses on the receiving end of Bors' wrath, and Branwen had to laugh as well. A Woad passed the table, as their laughter faded, and dropped to his knee before the priestess, taking the startled Branwen's hands in his.  
  
"Lady," He spoke, in the flowing language of his people, "It is a great omen to see you here! Has The Lady of Avalon come to give her blessing on Arthur?"  
  
"She has indeed." Branwen replied, smiling kindly, suddenly becoming the powerful priestess again. "And tomorrow, we shall all journey to see our King wed, by the sacred Stones."  
  
The man smiled, folding his hands before his forehead, before he rose, and left her side. Branwen looked back at Gawain, who had been watching her intently, and her eyes dropped back to her hands. "The people know the marks I bear, as the goddess' servant. It comforts them to see me, come from Avalon where her spirit dwells." She picked up her mug and took yet another long drink, wondering what he would think of such talk. She knew he was not of those shores, perhaps he thought the native people's beliefs nonsense. But then, if so, she would have no time for him...or for anyone who thought such. But he surprised her...  
  
"And what of Avalon, Branwen?" He heard himself asking, a touch of longing in his voice, "Often I've heard of it, at harvest fires and midsummer Beltane..."  
  
"A good Pagan, Sir Gawain?" Branwen looked back at him over her ale, a teasing glint in her eye, and Gawain laughed nervously, and nodded.  
  
"Yes, now and then," He grinned. She laughed.  
  
"Avalon has become quiet in the years of the Romans and their wall." She said after a moment, "Priestesses were sent out when they could manage, to let the people know that we were still there, that the goddess still lived..." She smiled, "Now, things will be as they once were, long ago. Avalon will surely be in its glory again..."  
  
"One can hope..." Gawain noted softly. Branwen looked at him closely then, fingering the charms around her neck absently. He was attractive; she'd had to admit that when she'd first set eyes on him. Now she was able to study him, as he watched the dancing, and as her nerves were loosened. His eyes were beautiful, she decided, and she'd seen many men in her lifetime...druids, chieftains, and woad warriors...none of them had ever had eyes like his.  
  
"Tell me," She asked softly, and he looked back at her, "How did a Sarmation come to embrace our goddess?"  
  
"Ah," Gawain smiled, looking down at his own pint for a moment, one hand moving across his chin thoughtfully. "Well, many years ago when I was about sixteen, a fellow knight, Aaron...he died a few years back...heard about the Beltane fires," He grinned, "And like any brash young man, he wanted to know how to get involved. When religion was brought up, he quickly dropped the subject." Branwen laughed, and Gawain smiled, "However, myself, Galahad, and another...Dagonet..." Here, his smile faded, to one of bittersweet remembrance, "We were intrigued. I spoke to a few followers of the old religion, and it made sense to me, and to Dagonet most of all." The grin returned, "He used to say that a woman had to be in charge of things, a man wouldn't have bothered with putting so much color in the land." Branwen smiled, as the knight sighed, "He died not long ago, before Lancelot and Tristan..."  
  
"He was a great warrior." It was a statement rather then a question, and Gawain nodded.  
  
"He was indeed." He said, with a soft conviction, as if it were his friend's proper eulogy. They were silent for a time then, but a comfortable, contemplative silence, the music and the drink lulling Branwen's senses to a peaceful, restful place. Suddenly Gawain looked back at her, with that slow, warm grin. "Would the priestess care for a dance?"  
  
Branwen laughed nervously, shaking her head, "Oh no, that you don't want to see," She stated, "Give me an arrow to kill a Saxon, give me a gravely ill man to heal, give me a pregnant woman to midwife, but do not ask me to dance." Gawain laughed.  
  
"That bad, eh?"  
  
"Only the goddess could get me to move my feet." She proclaimed.  
  
"Well then, perhaps I shall just have to wait until Beltane then?" He winked, and she blushed, even as she smirked back.  
  
"Perhaps you shall." She replied, and then yawned, realizing how late it was getting. "You may, however, walk me back to my room...I actually don't think I can remember where it is."  
  
"And we cannot have a repeat of the previous encounter, who knows what Bors would do." Gawain grinned, standing and offering his arm to her. She took it, smiling back at him, wondering at how comfortable it felt to be in his presence, as they made their way back towards the main hall...

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The girl on Galahad's knee watched them leave, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Since when is your friend such a gentleman?" She asked, to which Galahad grinned.  
  
"I'm not sure...she must really be something, I'm guessing." The girl sighed wistfully, and then shot him a sharp look.  
  
"Oh? And what does that make me, eh?"  
  
"Oh..." Galahad smiled wanly, "You're something too."  
  
"Thank you." The girl smiled, pleased, before she'd let that statement sink in fully...

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**Author's Notes:** Awwww...give me two more chapters, fluff will abound before the drama starts happening. Unfortunately for ya'll, I'll be gone until sunday --

But I'll be writing while I'm at the lake, so never fear, plenty of Gawain lovin' when the weekend is over ;-)

Everyone who has reviewed, YAY I love you, here have some gum hands out gum and the soul of my first born hands out contracts


	5. Where The Heart Moves The Stones

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News of the Saxon defeat had spread like wildfire throughout Britain, blazing through the moors and hills and reaching those that remained high in the north swiftly. A heavy blow for the cruel tribes...but it would not daunt them, not if their new chieftain had anything to say about it...

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Branwen was up early on the wall, to watch the sunrise through the heavy morning fog on the deep green hills, on a day that promised to be agreeable and sunny. She lifted her face to its light for a moment, saying her morning prayers to the Mother before returning to the post, where a procession was being packed for the journey to the coast.  
  
Morgaine stood silent and thoughtful by her cart, and Branwen stood beside her, much taller then The Lady of Avalon, yet still feeling as if she were a young girl at her teacher's side. "The Woads bring along sacred wood," The priestess noted, watching the dark people of the land loading Rowan and wood from the nine forests into a cart, "Your doing?"  
  
"They asked if it was appropriate to have a rebirth celebration," Morgaine replied, distantly, "A kind of summer Beltane, for Arthur revives their land. I told them the goddess would surely smile on such a thing."  
  
Branwen nodded, watching the people load their carts, while that old familiar knot formed in her stomach. As a priestess of nineteen years old, she was more then old enough to participate, but she didn't want to, couldn't, it would take the goddess physically pushing her out into the night...but perhaps this would be a different kind of celebration. She heard a sigh at her side, and was reminded that she'd been busy worrying about herself, and hadn't realized the troubled haze about her mentor's eyes...  
  
"You seem very far away, Morgaine." Branwen noted softly, and Morgaine nodded, slowly, her eyes still watching the people who gathered to follow them, and to marvel at her.  
  
"It is not easy for Arthur," She replied, "It is not easy for him to accept me, nor to understand Avalon." At this, she cursed under her breath, "Why did Igraine have to marry that Roman and his religion? Why was my brother not brought up as I was?"  
  
"It is understandable that you're disappointed." Branwen murmured, and Morgaine nodded, forcing a smile.  
  
"Well, at least he's to wed a strong warrior for our people." She said briskly, "All things work to the greater purpose...he is a good leader. If all Christians were as he is, I would have no problem accepting them here. But they are not, and I do not."  
  
"Ah, but Rome has left," Branwen reminded her, "Your brother will now be the greatest influence on this island, next to Avalon."  
  
"Very true..." Morgaine agreed wistfully, "All is better then I could have hoped...I only wish..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"That he would call me his sister."

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Branwen felt at home again, once she was back on her horse and riding beside Morgaine's cart, an odd sight for the people, but she simply couldn't stand the thought of spending the journey to the coast cramped inside that jolting cage. The wind was fresh and cool, whipping through her free-flying hair and tempting the lady to let her mount break into a run and disrupt the entire line.  
  
Arthur, Gawain, Galahad and Bors were leading their caravan, Merlin walking swiftly beside his future king. Guenevere was being traditional to the letter on this, the day she and Arthur would wed, and was riding in the cart alongside Morgaine. She would not see Arthur until their binding, though she was still her restless self, peaking out now and then to ask Branwen what landmarks they'd passed and how much further they had to go. Nearing noon, Branwen decided, with a smirk, to put the poor girl in suspense, and moved up to ride beside the wagon Vanora's children were riding in, their mother walking briskly alongside. The two chatted a bit, while Guenevere bit her lip and was left to wonder herself how much longer she had until her wedding.

."Did you really give birth to every single one of them?" Branwen asked, disbelief thick in her voice, and Vanora laughed.  
  
"Aye, and another's on the way, though his father doesn't know yet." She replied, and Branwen shook her head.  
  
"I don't know how you could do it..."  
  
"One day at a time." Vanora grinned, "Have you any children, Priestess? You seem of an age to have a few."  
  
"No," Branwen shook her head; "I've not yet given myself to the spring fires nor any lover at all. I'm afraid the thought of childbirth leaves me fainthearted."  
  
"I can understand that," The elder woman nodded, "Though I promise, after six, they start walking out on their own."  
  
"I'll remember that." Branwen laughed, as Bors' youngest daughter reached up to her, asking for a ride. She set the little girl to ride before her, lifting her face once more to the soft wind. Her young companion had one of her long red curls in her little hands, humming to herself, and Branwen grinned. She liked children, she really did, it was the silent dread in her the kept her from having one, the fear of leaving a child without a mother...

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"Faster!" The girl of three suddenly cried, and Branwen looked at Vanora, who nodded, smiling, and then the priestess gave her mare her head and set them at a brisk trot, her little passenger squealing in delight. Branwen reined in not far from the head of the party, realizing that one of Arthur's knights had pulled back from the lead, and was now watching her, a gleam in his eyes.  
  
"I see Briallen has found you," Gawain reached out and mussed the light brown curls of the little girl on Branwen's horse, "She loves getting rides."  
  
"I didn't know they'd named her," Branwen smiled, falling into step beside him, and he shook his head.  
  
"Oh we named them all at some point," He grinned, "Vanora kept track, Bors didn't. Dagonet named this one; she was born on the first day of spring. Lancelot had put the year's first Primroses by her cradle...Dagonet was inspired."  
  
"In Avalon we heard much of Arthur's knights..." Branwen smiled, as Gawain reached over and took Briallen on his saddle, "Of their courage, their ferocity, yet I never realized they all had such soft hearts."  
  
"There has to be a break in the spilling of blood sometime," Gawain replied quietly, brushing Briallen's hair back from her face, as she tangled her fingers in his horse's mane, "You know, Lancelot always teased Bors, about Vanora's sons looking like him." He looked up at Branwen, grinning, "While this little girl was the only one of her children who actually did."  
  
Branwen smiled at him, reaching out to touch the child's face, and they rode on in comfortable silence, the hills and forests passing them by, until the early afternoon, when the road became rocky, a distant roar drummed in their ears, and the faint, tangy scent of salt was on the air...

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_Arthur wed his Lady that afternoon, by the sacred stones, Guenevere dressed in white, the Roman color of joy, and the Christian color of purity. It was a strange binding, to tell the truth, but a very beautiful and powerful one, a blending of Christian and Pagan. There was no sorrow in Arthur's eyes, he felt no troubles, he only saw his bride. And she was filled with joy to be standing at his side. The energy of the stones, of the earth, the wind, the fire, the water, all was present, powerful, and I felt the goddess there, in that place, blessing their union.  
  
I stood with Morgaine and Eiluned on Guenevere's right, the sea winds whipping through our holy priestess cloaks and braided hair. Arthur did not look at Morgaine, though she was silently blessing their hands as Merlin bound them together. I tried to look at them, but my eyes were drawn to Arthur's knights...to Gawain. He was often gazing at me throughout his friend's wedding, and I wondered at the stirrings his eyes ignited within me...  
  
And then they were wed, and Arthur was proclaimed king, and all attentions were upon him, and upon the blazing arrows that were shot in all directions, sealing his claim as ruler of all Britain. New days had come, days that were filled with promise, for my people, and for myself..._

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**Author's Notes:** I'm baaaaaack

A note on the spelling of Gwenhwyfar: I knew they'd used the widely used French or English spelling of her name in the movie, and the one my spellchecker on Word knew was Guenevere, so I just went with it. Do you know how many versions there are of this girl's name?!

Personally, I prefer the traditional Welsh spelling **Gwenhwyfar**, it's much prettier and makes much more sense, as she isn't French, but that would have just confused people/been a tongue twister/whatever. To me though, she'll always be Gwenhwyfar ;-)

Apologies if any of my knowledge of pagan/celtic customs is off or inaccurate as far as it relates to the timeline of the movie, I am after all simply a Christian fascinated with the idea of goddess worship XD I think I'm doing pretty well though.

I loooooove each and every review I've gotten, endless love to all

Next chapter: Branwen gets deflowered, YAY! ;-)


	6. There That My Heart Is Longing

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Arthur's company had set up an encampment not far from the shore, and now as the sun set into the sea, the area was full of lively voices, music, and celebration. Torches were lit, wine was flowing, and the newly wedded pair was seated amongst their knights and their people, eating and laughing and sharing warm glances now and then.  
  
Morgaine stood on a hill not far from the tents, watching as a few Woad men carried the sacred wood into a clearing about a hundred or so yards from the camp, to stand ready when the stars stepped out of the twilight. Already the young women below were finding flowers for their hair, trying ribbons about the children and finding themselves dancing a bit, all in celebration. This had been a day long hoped for, prayed for, when the land would be theirs again, ruled by a good and noble leader.  
  
It was a joyous time, and Morgaine wished she could feel a part of it, yet she could not, at least not fully. A part of her was angry with herself, why were there no smiles on her face? All that she and Merlin had worked for had come to be, her brother had wed the girl he loved, and the land would be at peace...  
  
But she knew nothing could replace the emptiness in her heart, where the hope of being loved by her younger brother had resided for so long. It had been buried deeply, the Lady of The Lake was not to have such strong ties to the mortal world, but she did. And now he was so distant from her, still wrestling with the thought of his mother having lay with another, no doubt, a man he would never know, for Igraine had never seen him again, nor known his name. What did that make Morgaine to him, other then an ally?

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A sigh escaped her lips, and she started to feel a hand on her arm, turning to see none other then Arthur, standing beside her. She let out her breath, and gave a small smile looking up at him. He smiled back, and her eyes returned to the clearing.  
  
"I admit I've not paid much attention to the old religion's customs," He said after a moment of watching the Woads arrange the wood, "The fertility fires were a great mystery."  
  
"It is a celebration of the land," Morgaine replied, "A young man might ask the maiden he fancied to wed him at Beltane, children might play games at springtime, and many will go to the fires..."  
  
"To lay with a perfect stranger?" Arthur smirked, yet his eyes were serious...Morgaine understood perfectly.  
  
"It's not about that," She spoke softly in reply, "The goddess is in all of us...she does not grudge nor rank on beauty, strength, we are all her children at Beltane, all women are The Goddess, all men are The Hunter, and the joys of the flesh are the mother's gift, to be enjoyed in this deeply spiritual motion. It is especially honorable if one has a linage close to the goddess, as a priestess, chieftain, or a child of either...as Igraine was. Their child will be strong in the old magic."  
  
Arthur nodded, slowly, looking back to the clearing. "I did not understand..." He whispered, "How much it must have meant to her..."  
  
"One of the greatest and hardest things she'd ever done, I'm sure" Morgaine nodded, then took a deep breath, "Shouldn't you be with your bride, King Arthur?"  
  
"Ah she's busy with her sisters, cousins..." Arthur trailed off, "I thought I should also spend time with the only family I had here..." Morgaine looked back up at him, to see him smiling fully on her. She smiled back, and he put his arm around her shoulders for a moment. "...My sister." 

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The summer evening was chilly, even with the torches that burned within Branwen and Eiluned's tent. Branwen shivered, as she heard the drums begin to pound, heard the laughter of a few Woad men who passed by her tent, on their way to dance. Eiluned stepped inside, and nearly dropped the wine goblet in her hand.  
  
Branwen turned from where she stood, braiding back the last of her long ruddy curls. She was dressed in a plain leather bodice, a skirt of brown cotton tied around her hips, her ceremonial beads and feathers, and the tattoo on her forehead painted a bit brighter. She looked every bit a powerful priestess of Avalon, yet her brown eyes were like those of a frightened deer.  
  
"I felt the mother's call." Was her only explanation, swallowing nervously. Eiluned nodded slowly, stepping past her to set her wine on the small table between the mounds of fur that were their beds.  
  
"Here," She said softly, taking the earthenware bowl of blue woad the Branwen had been holding, and dipping her fingers in it. "You should have the marks of a priestess." The elder woman deftly drew the sign of the sun on Branwen's torso, the moon on her chest above the laces of her simple vest, and various vines and flowers on her arms, and her face. "There...this may not be Beltane, but you will be the goddess nonetheless."  
  
"I...I'm still afraid." Branwen breathed, as Eiluned wove some dried rowan and fresh chicory through her braids, as primroses were not in season. "Not...Not of childbirth, not right now, but..."  
  
"It will be fine." Eiluned drew her close, kissing her forehead above the crescent moon. "This is an important night, a night of celebration...the goddess will grant you a gentle lover, I am sure of it." She drew back, taking a deep breath, "Now go, they've already started the dances..."

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She was barefoot, walking through the grass and toward the two fires, where the drummers were beating out a steady time, and the people were dancing, some wearing their harvest masks, some wearing their Beltane masks, some none at all. The grass was soft, and cool under her feet, and a distant part of her found this strange, the landscape had seemed so rocky in the daylight. Her heart was unsteady, yet there was a soft voice in the air, by her ear, whispering that all would be well, all would be paradise, she would be forever changed this night, a faithful servant of the goddess. Still, she was afraid...  
  
They were all around her then, those who were only there to dance, only there to play the drums, and then couples with hands clasped, slipping away from the fires and into the trees. Eyes were meeting across the fires, the goddess seeing her hunter, the hunter seeing the goddess. All kinds were there, Woads, Druids, the common people, all who believed that tonight was a great marriage, of their King, of the earth, and of their island's new beginning...  
  
No eyes met Branwen's for a long time, though her beauty was great. She was afraid to look up, but when she did, she realized that she did not feel her chosen partner anywhere, none of the faces were drawing her in, nor was she drawing any to her. She was almost ready to breathe a sigh of something between relief...she did not have to face her fear...and regret...she could not serve the mother fully...when she saw him.  
  
The drums were suddenly all Branwen could hear above her sharp intake of breath, as her eyes were fixed across the flames, to where he stood, gazing back at her. His face, painted with woad, was illuminated by the fire, and his eyes were bright as they met her own.  
  
Gawain could only stare at her for a time, looking like a being of legend that could pass right through the flames if she wanted, yet at the same time her dark eyes betrayed her mortality, unsure and afraid, yet glowing with the light of the goddess.  
  
They moved at the same moment, stepping slowly around the flames, their eyes never leaving each other, their hands meeting at the bonfire's edge. Gawain reached out to her wordlessly, brushing one of her braids back from her eyes, his fingers tracing one of her markings down the side of her face, to her throat. Branwen shut her eyes, trembling a little even as relief settled in her heart. It had been him. She would have nothing to fear...perhaps even, she realized as a warm desire began to form within her, she would find pleasure after all. His hand drifted to her side, and she opened her eyes, to see him staring at her with a warm intensity that captivated her. The pulse was all around them, of the earth, the fires, the drums, and the pair was filled with their desire, their need. Still holding her hand, Gawain pulled her towards the trees, away from the light...

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_ The woods were sweet with the scent of summer, of the trees, the salty air, and the chicory in my hair that was crushed against the leafy forest floor as Gawain laid me down. My hands sunk into the leaves on either side of my head, and my lips parted to take in the thick air around us. My eyes were drawn upward, to the clear night, the stars and the full moon above us. His lips were against my throat, his strong arms surrounding me, and my eyes shut, feeling the far-off drums pulsing with the roar of the ocean, pulsing with my blood, our blood. He lifted his head and looked down at me, his eyes imploring mine, and I gave him my reply. I reached up, draping my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his long hair, and pulling him towards me, our lips meeting softly. He knew I'd never been kissed before, and I let him be my teacher, the goddess submitting to her counterpart, and oh how the desire swelled within me. I wanted him, I wanted his love, and he mine.  
  
There were no words between us that night; we did not need any, though our future together would be filled with many. But at that time, on that sweet night I had feared for so long, our spirits spoke for us, igniting a passion I'd not thought possible before. My arms welcomed his warm embrace, our bodies joining in the intoxicating air of the night, the night my course was forever changed... _

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**Author's Notes:** _siiigh_ I am in love with Gawaine, it's true...

And why yes, I_ have_ seen The Last of The Mohicans ten million times, why do you ask? .

heehee

I have always wanted to write a Beltane scene, lol, unfortunately placing the events during the springtime would have messed with a few other things I have planned, so this seemed permissible and, hopefully, believable.

I've just decided that I need to see the movie a third time before I leave for Puerto Rico on friday. Oooo! Or better yet, I could see it in San Juan, with subtitles XD

Again, much love to all reviewers! I've given you sweet lovin, stay tuned for war, angst, death, more sweet lovin, and one pissed off Guenevere...


	7. For The Love Of You

She burst out of the freezing salt water with a sharp gasp, brushing her soaked tresses back from her face with a shiver. Branwen opened her eyes to the slightly overcast morning, to the ocean that stretched out into a fine misty horizon. Cool droplets ran down her arms and chest, colored blue by the smudged markings of the night before. Sighing, she rubbed her skin free of the dye, and quickly, it may have been summer but the sea was cold, and she'd never before had the sensation of salt water in her eyes. The rolling waters were beautiful to look at, but she wasn't sure she would ever bathe in them again...

Sinking under again, she let herself remember the night before...a sweetest dream. She had awoken in the forest, in his arms, and though her hair was tangled with rowan and wilted chicory, and though her body was smudged with blue, she'd never before felt as beautiful as when he'd opened his eyes, eyes light blue as a clear morning sky, and smiled at her.

Now, she hurried out of the water and onto the rocks, dismayed that she only had her clothes from the night before to wear, as she put them back on. She hadn't wanted to return to the camp before she'd bathed, though plenty of the other women had. Branwen was shy by nature; she didn't think she could stand it to see the knowing grins and hear jovial (albeit good natured) comments of whoever might see her. But now, she wished she'd braved the morning revelers, with their wine-induced headaches and easy laughter, just to have a warm dress after the sea...

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Gawain was suddenly there, stepping down the narrow path over the rocks to where she stood, and without a word he draped his dark burgundy cloak around her shoulders, smiling softly. Branwen smiled back at him, shyly pulling her wet hair over her shoulder and wringing it dry. She could not break contact with his eyes, fixed on her own, their icy blue meeting her rich dark brown. He took her hand, leading her back up the path.

"You're journeying back towards Avalon today, are you not?" Gawain's voice broke the calming silence, as they walked back to the encampment, Branwen close to his side. She nodded, looking down at her feet as they walked over the dew-speckled grass.

"Yes," She replied quietly, biting her lip. It wasn't like this, usually, from what she had observed, and what she had been told. Usually, there was no pining after Beltane, only contentment...but here they were, side by side, and already her heart was beginning to ache a bit... "We'll be back come spring, perhaps."

"Such a very long time from now." Gawain murmured, as they neared her tent. Branwen stopped and turned to him, to his bright eyes that were suddenly looking down at her with such tenderness. She swallowed a bit, touching his hand for a moment.

"I'm...glad it was you." She whispered, looking down quickly after her assertion. But Gawain lifted her face once more, a sad, rueful kind of smirk crossing his face.

"As am I." He replied, and kissed her softly. Branwen shut her eyes, until the warmth of his lips was replaced with the chilly morning air. She watched as he walked away through the rows of tents, and then shut her eyes tightly, wrapping his cloak close until his scent was all around her...

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_We left for Avalon that very morning. Morgaine had told her brother that she would return whenever he should want her council or aid, and he assured her that he would often in the months to come. As for myself, however, I had no idea when I would be asked to travel back with my Lady, when I would see Gawain again..._

_Of course, it was not the way of things, to pine after a Beltane lover. It made me feel as if I were some silly girl sent to the fires much too young, and I tried my best to banish such feelings. I had hardly known him three days, and I was a priestess of Avalon, above such notions._

_And so I was stoic, mounting my horse in my warm priestess cloak and gown, and riding away from the encampment by The Stones with the rest of Arthur's company. Gawain rode beside me, and we spoke often enough, but I kept myself removed. I would not let myself be attached, I simply could not._

_But when we parted ways on the road, my company for Avalon, and Arthur's for his fortress, I knew it was too late. My heart was pained, as I turned, to see Gawain watching me leave on the hill behind me. He raised his hand in farewell, and I returned the gesture, and then quickly looked away, lest by some miracle the white hawk could see the tears in my eyes._

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**Author's Notes:** I'm baaaaaack, and Puerto Rico was fantastic.

Sorry about the delay, between the site having issues (why the hell can't I space?! Now things just look WRONG) and other things, I have neglected this story a bit. But fear not, inspiration springs anew, as I now have my copy of the soundtrack. Oh how I love it.

This chapter and the next will be a bit lacking in action, but interesting none the less. Thank you to all reviewers! More soon


	8. Then It Draws Me Far Away

"I don't believe I've ever seen a more pathetic sight, Sir Gawain." Guenevere's voice sang through the afternoon air, breaking the knight out of his thoughts, as he stood atop the fortress walls of Viroconium. He turned, and managed a smile to her, as she climbed the stairs and stood beside him, leaning against the stone. The breeze stirred in her hair, pinned through with summer flowers, and a contented smile was on her face, the smile of one who was in love. Gawain fancied the girl couldn't contain it, leaning back with her fingers holding the stone ridge, the normally serious and fierce young woman now giving off the aura of a playful child. She'd had bouts of this, ever since the wedding a week before.

"And how is our fair queen this day?" Gawain asked, light hearted enough, for her sake, and Guenevere looked at him for a long moment before giving her reply.

"I am well," She nodded, standing straight again, looking out over the green hills that rolled on toward the wall. "Still wondering what that title entails, exactly, other then my being wedded to Arthur." Guenevere turned to look at him then, "What of you, Gawain?" She smiled, softly "What has plagued your mind these past days, since Arthur and my binding?"

"Ah, nothing plagues me," Gawain forced a smirk, and Guenevere rolled her eyes.

"Spare me Gawain, I am a warrior as well," She reminded him, suddenly all of her old self, "And I know you won't speak of it unless I ask. Arthur has noticed a sorrow about you, and he wonders if it is lingering sadness over your fallen comrades."

Gawain sighed, "It's not that...though, part of me feels like it should be that." He shook his head, "Tell Arthur it's nothing to worry about, just a woman."

"You'd do well not to use those words in front of any woman." Guenevere pointed out, and Gawain cracked a small grin. "You speak of the priestess, Branwen." She stated, and his smile left him, as he replied with only a nod. Guenevere nodded, turning to look back out over the land.

"I have been to the fires twice before, Guenevere," He spoke softly, "I have laid beside women I never saw again, who very well might have borne me children, whom I shall never meet by all odds. But that has been little pain to my soul, a small regret at best. All was done in joyous worship, and celebration of the season of life. But now..."

"She lingers in you." Guenevere whispered, and Gawain could only nod. The Queen of Britain sighed, nodding slowly. "It is not unusual, Gawain." She told him, a hazy quality in her tone, "My father's second Beltane, he lay with my mother, a Woad, and afterwards he longed for her like no other...finally, he went out to find her," She smiled, wistfully, "He stayed with her until the day he died." She turned to him then, reaching out to touch his face, "Seek not the Goddess' chosen, that is what they will tell you. Only she can choose you."

"I am sure, that I will have little time to think on these things..." Gawain leaned heavily upon the wall of stone, eyes gazing sightless. Guenevere nodded.

"Wait and see," Was all she said, turning to go, "Oh and Gawain?" The knight turned, and Guenevere smiled, "Arthur has planned a meeting tonight, to discuss future plans. He has missed your company, as have Bors and Galahad, I would expect."

"Tell the king I will make more of an effort to be lighthearted." Gawain managed a smirk, and Guenevere was satisfied, at least for the time being. She turned, and made her way down to the courtyard, skirts swishing about her ankles. The knight looked up to the sky for a long moment, wondering how the weather was in Avalon...

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The mists enveloped her, the hazy damp air like a comforting blanket to her, the comfort of home. Branwen shut her eyes, as Morgaine rose and parted the mists, the gates of Avalon, and they sailed on through to their island. The young priestess was calling on all of the healing power of that place, to make her spirit light again.

They stepped off of the barge amongst the reeds and waterfowl, a great company of priestesses and novices gathering to greet Morgaine. Through the crowd of women, a little six year old girl was pushing her way forward, running towards Eiluned, her arms outstretched.

"Mama!" She cried, and Eiluned lifted her with a joyful laugh.

"My Nimue!" The Priestess exclaimed, carrying her dark-haired daughter along as they made their way up the smooth stone path to the temple, "I trust you've been minding Raven in my absence?"

"Yes Mama." Nimue nodded solemnly, and behind them, Branwen smiled. In their world, daughters were given to the goddess, and sons who were not Druids were fostered elsewhere. Most of the time, a priestess did not acknowledge any of her younger children who might live in Avalon with special attention until they were grown, unless it was a special occasion. Nimue was already wise enough to grab those moments when they came. The girl would be clinging happily to her mother's skirts for the rest of the day, as the novices rested and Morgaine informed Avalon of her brother's virtues, bravery, and honor.

Branwen's smile faded, looking at the little girl, and the bright adoring eyes that were fixed on her mother. She remembered when Nimue had been born, and how Eiluned had wept. Already, she had watched her two sons leave her as toddlers, her eldest with the Druids, her second with the Woad chieftain who was his father. Then she had been given a daughter, whom she would have to watch grow up from afar. All women in Avalon went through this, and most were fine after a time, watching their girls grow in beauty in their service to the goddess. But Branwen did not think she would ever be able to stand it.

Morgaine sat in one of the great stone halls in the temple, women gathering to sit at her feet, yet Branwen slipped away, after whispering to Eiluned that she needed rest. Her feet trod familiar, ancient paths over the worn tiles of the temple, up the great stairs and to her room. The door was simply an arch that connected her room to Morgaine's, the hard stone hung with soft, translucent blue tapestry that Branwen had woven as a young girl. Now she ran her hand through it for a moment, before crossing to her simple bed, to sit and gaze out of the window, over the fair green country under the misty, clouded sky. An elbow resting on the sill, her chin resting on her palm, she was both weary and listless at once.

Branwen shut her eyes, wishing with all of her heart that this feeling within her would go away. She longed to feel the all-encompassing joy that returning home had always stirred within her. She whispered a prayer that the goddess would find her and bring it back, that perhaps all she needed was sleep. The priestess slipped out of her robe, and curled up on her bed, shutting her eyes tightly against the pain in her temples, and in her heart.

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Allerick turned a hazy glare to the sky above his camp, wondering at the sunshine that penetrated the clouds so. It didn't seem the sort of day that commanded a lofty spectator, but perhaps that was just his dented mind prattling on to itself. Seemed it did that a lot as of late, ever since word had reached him of his older cousin Cerdic's defeat. Sure, there'd been little love between Cerdic and himself, but there had been a mutual, albeit grudging, respect. As jealous as Allerick had been when their grandfather had chosen Cerdic to take his place as high chieftain, he'd known it to be a wise choice. His cousin had been cunning, ruthless and a damned good warrior. In less then ten years, Cerdic had amassed the largest army the Saxons had ever known, and now to hear that he'd been defeated by six knights and the primitive native Woads...

Allerick drew his sword for a moment, lifting the blade to his face, where he could glare at his faint reflection. With both Cerdic and his son dead, Allerick was now high chieftain, yet that brought him precious little happiness. There were few Saxon warriors left to him, only those who'd been posted to defend the home fires and a few who'd been wounded at the time of Cerdic's marching. Allerick would have been well advised to stay on the home soil, and spend the next couple of years regrouping.

But that was just not the way of it; it was not the way a Saxon took revenge. And vengeance was indeed in his heart, for while he'd not loved Cerdic; he did know that his predecessor's once successful campaign would reflect upon him. The people were outraged and bloodthirsty, and looking to him to set things straight. Of course, there was nothing Allerick wanted more then to crush Artorius' skull with a battleaxe, but it just didn't seem possible at that point in time...

Now, he looked up at the young spy, who'd been standing before him outside of Allerick's tent, after giving him the latest news. The Saxon Chieftain sighed, setting his sword aside.

"So, Arthur's wedded that Woad wench, has he?" He spoke, in a rough voice that suggested he didn't speak much. "What, is she carrying his child?"

"By all accounts no," The boy shook his head, "Apparently, he loves her." Allerick coughed.

"Well, that will be his undoing," He smirked, and then paused, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He'd been joking, but then again, perhaps he was right... "And what of this business about the people naming him their king?"

"That's it." The boy stammered, "He plans on campaigning all over Britain, building his army, and the people's support."

Allerick cursed. Rome had all but left the island for the Saxon's taking, the least Arthur could have done after Cerdic's defeat was to be just as wounded. But no, now he would build up an army from the barely cooled ashes...

"This is going to take something new, boy," He mused, muttering more to himself then anyone else, "Something more cunning...something more cruel."

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**Author's Notes:** Yay more.

It's hard writing the inbetween, forshadowing stuff, especially for me because I like getting to the meat of the stories (which is a bit odd, concidering I've recently gone vegan). But I'm fairly happy with how this aspect of the story is going, and the reviews help sooooo much

Had to get Nimue in there. Had to. Her name is too fun to say to have her overlooked in this telling of the legend. She'll play her old meaningful part too, to some degree.

In other news, I have my computer in my apartment, YAY! No more sharing a machine with anyone. No more headphone headaches, as my inspirational writing music wafts harmlessly through my rooms, instead of blasting in my ears to drown out whatever was on tv...I'm so insanely happy XD


	9. Sand Melts In Pools Of The Sky

Many weeks had passed since Arthur's coronation, and Morgaine had not received word from him, not until the days had brought them to the end of summer, and the first distinct chill on air that was usually warm in Avalon. When the Apple Queen was lying down to rest in the sacred orchards of the Holy Isle, and the frost was starting to touch the grass in the mornings, Merlin came to take word with The Lady of The Lake, in her rooms overlooking the water and the green country.

Branwen was on her bed, Nimue looking after her, as the priestess battled a sickness all too familiar. The little girl bathed her forehead and hummed songs, as Branwen willed the nausea away.

An hour passed, and Morgaine slipped into the girls' room, sitting at the foot of her bed and handing Nimue a bag of herbs and roots to put in Branwen's wine.

"Merlin tells me that Arthur plans to build his army this winter." Morgaine said softly, as Nimue left to do her bidding, "An odd time of year, but he sees no reason to wait, Britain is still weak without Rome's protection. He'll be occupied with recruiting the young men close to Viroconium at present, but in less then two courses of the moon, he'll be campaigning all over the island. It is then that I fear for him." Morgaine took a deep breath, "When Merlin told me of Arthur's marching, immediately I felt a darkness on my being. Branwen, you are blessed with the sight, I know it, and you are the strongest novice I've ever had, save perhaps Nimue, but she is only a small child." She sighed, "I ask of you, will you..."

"Lady," Branwen stopped her, weakly raising her hand, "I...I am with child."

Morgaine shut her eyes tightly, nodding. It was a great risk, now, to do such a thing in such a condition. But Branwen spoke again, "Perhaps...if I take only a very small portion of the mystic's root...it will not harm me."

"I would be indebted to you, my friend." Morgaine smiled softly, and Branwen turned away to face the wall. If the king were lost, so would be all that Morgaine and Merlin and the people of their island had hoped and prayed for so long. That was worth the risk, she told herself, yet she knew that secretly, she was hoping the process would harm her...

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The fires were blazing all around her, a ring of fire atop Avalon under the stars. A substance was brought to Branwen's lips, dusty and soft, like the rotted bark of a tree. She took a tiny bite, shutting her eyes as she did so. She felt a mighty kick in her chest, and she reeled, crying out and her gaze became fixed on the sky above, which spun and blurred in a chaotic mass.

"He leaves behind what shall be slaughtered!" She cried, "He does not see, He can not see! They will tear his heart from him, as they tear the White Queen's from her chest and send it to his camps! They will rip the child from her womb! All shall be sorrow!"

Then as soon as it came, it was gone, and Branwen was falling, falling down the steps of Avalon all the way to the lake. There she became one of the swans, one of the reeds., flying, swimming, deep down into the murky waters. And then all was blackness.

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Morgaine had caught her when she fainted, and brought her back to her rooms in the temple. Branwen awoke many hours later surrounded by her blankets and her belongings, to see the Lady beside her, singing a healing song and bathing her face in gentle wort and thyme. "I did not fall..."

"No," Morgaine said softly, "The powerful medicines sometimes give one frightful dreams, as well as strengthening the power to see the things that will be."

"I...I saw Guenevere." Branwen breathed, "But that is all I remember."

"Your words were that there was death in her future." Morgaine nodded, "She will be in great peril when Arthur marches."

"I do not remember who wanted to harm her..."

"It is strange that you remember anything at all." Morgaine managed a smile, "Now rest. I will think on these things."

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Despite her morbid hopes and fears, the drug did not cause Branwen to lose the child in her womb. She discovered there was indeed strength in her, which perhaps had not been in her family's women before then. And now she faced a greater fear. That perhaps, she might live to see her child...Gawain's child...only to have it taken from her.

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The full moon was high in the sky over the Saxon settlement, and above the council fire that Allerick and his lesser chieftains sat around, the hellish light reflecting in his eyes with a mad ferocity that was unsettling to his followers, even as it was encouraging. Their greatest leaders had always harbored a little madness in their souls.

"What do we need to overthrow Arthur, Amon?" Allerick asked of one of the lesser chieftains, as they all sat under the stars. The Saxon thought for a time, before answering.

"More men, which should be obvious enough." He coughed, and Allerick nodded, thoughtfully.

"More men...more of our men are coming from the hills, but what of those Arthur might recruit?"

"The Brits?" Another chieftain scowled, "Our aim has always been to wipe them off of this island."

"And we will." Allerick nodded, "But it needs to be done soon. And it needs to be done quietly, until more of our people join us here."

"What are you saying?" Amon asked, carefully, but Allerick just grinned, somewhat sadistically.

"Leave it to me." Was all he said on the matter. "For now...put our energy into training the boys who are of age, and those who may have gotten lazy with watching the home front." He sat back on the grass, looking up at the moon, "We'll have our island, men. I promise you that."

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It was two weeks later, while deeply into the time of Harvest Moon, when Morgaine shut herself away in her rooms, and did not come out for three days and three nights. She would not touch food or drink; her time spent tirelessly working on some great project.

Branwen stood watch by her doors, silent and joyless, though the sickness had by that time left her behind. No, now her spirit was in turmoil instead of body, her thoughts drifting to one end of Britain to the other. Avalon was all the life she had ever known, the goddess the only mother she'd truly had. Service had never been exceedingly hard for her, until now. But then, perhaps this was her greatest test, her greatest sacrifice, and her first taste of the pain that life could bring. But then again, was her heart meant to be so sorrowing?

At last, Morgaine opened her doors on the third day, and stepped outside looking weary and worn, though no less ethereal and powerful.

"Branwen," She smiled wanly, "Come, let us take food together."

"I am ahead of you there." The priestess managed a smile, taking the Lady's hand and leading her into her own room, "I had food set out this morning...somehow I knew you'd be done today."

"Of course you did," Morgaine sighed, sitting down at the small table in Branwen's room, where wine and bread was set out, along with autumn berries and Avalon's famed sweet apples. The Lady ate hungrily, before she was rejuvenated enough to talk further. "I am sending you back to Arthur's fortress, Branwen," The priestess froze, a blackberry halfway to her lips, "With Eiluned and Nimue. You will bring Arthur the gift that I have made."

"Lady..." Branwen whispered, "With all my respect, I do not think it would be wise to send me, not now."

"A bit of travel will not harm your child." Morgaine reached out and touched the girl's hand softly, knowingly.

"It is not that," Branwen's lip trembled a bit, and her eyes turned to look out of the window, "I fear I have not been as strong of a daughter to the mother these past months, Morgaine. I have had conflicting feelings, conflicting thoughts, and now to send me back to the place where these things originated..."

"Branwen," Morgaine shut her eyes, and spoke with the voice of The Lady of Avalon, "I may not be strong in the sight, but I am The Lady, and I hear the goddess' voice. And I know that, just as I am lead to send young Nimue, I am lead to send you."

Branwen turned back, and Morgaine opened her eyes, a kind of warmth there that was rare, the kind of warmth the Lady might have given her mother, or a sister. "I understand now," Morgaine spoke, "Why I must send you, but you must find out for yourself. Again, I do not have the sight. But as I worked on the mighty gift I send my brother, the goddess granted me the knowledge in my heart, of where you must go." She smiled, almost sadly, "Someday, you will know as well. For now, trust my judgment?"

Slowly, Branwen nodded, and Morgaine reached out her arms, and embraced her priestess, who sobbed into her shoulder for a time. "I trust you before all others, my friend." She confessed, and Morgaine found herself shedding a tear of happiness. They were friends indeed, and would always remain so.

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_The air was chilled and smelled of the Orchards, the gardens of herbs and spices, the scents of my home, when I walked the familiar path down to the barge, for the second time as a traveler, now wearing my warm brown harvest cloak with it's hood drawn around my face. Behind me, Eiluned was dressed much the same, Nimue sheltering close to her side as they walked. _

_Morgaine watched from the bluff above, the mists turning her into a faint shadow looking on. She was not going with us, and had given no verbal explanation, other then that Nimue was to go for this trip. Most of the novices were puzzled at that, though the priestesses knew that her reasoning would be clear soon enough. For now, the little girl carried Arthur's gift, a large long object wrapped in linen._

_Stepping on to the barge with our Woad oarsmen, I looked back, to see Morgaine raising her hands in farewell. Somehow, I was able to manage a smile, and raise my hands in return. And then the barge was sliding off into the mists...I had to turn one last time, to look again._

_It gave me the strangest, strongest waking premonition I'd ever had, to see Avalon's green shores fading from my view. A strange, frightful excitement for what was to come, and a cold dread within my heart, that I might never again look upon the Holy Isle, at least, not as had for all of my life...as a priestess of Avalon. A chill ran over me, over my arms, and I pulled my cloak closer about me, shivering. _

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**Author's Notes: **ooooo, foreshadowing... ::bounces:: yay, getting close to stuff happening, hehe

Good catch on the song lyric chapter titles! Now, let's hope I don't run out of fitting lyrics before I run out of chapters =P Might throw in a few from the soundtrack as well, as I am in love with the song by my other goddess, Moya Brennan. Long live Clannad. Long live celtic-inspired music in general.

::adding links to profile:::

In other news, it's hard sticking to a vegan diet when one is pmsing and craving steak...thank god for gardenburgers.

I loff you all =D


	10. Every Breath Is Full

Alis was sitting on her father's hay cart that morning, when the new family came to her village. She was humming quietly to herself, braiding a crown out of autumn flowers, when the new father introduced himself to her da. Alis didn't pay much attention, being five years old and preoccupied with her own very important little girl business. The grownups were talking about boring grownup things, like the new king and how the new family had moved down from the hills because of the Saxons. It was all very uninteresting to Alis, though; the new man's wife was very pretty. She had such bright blonde hair, and the little boy in her arms had the same bright curls. Alis wished her hair were that color, instead of plain and brown.

That evening, the grownups were having a big harvest celebration, and Alis begged her mother to let her go. But her mother told her no, that little girls needed their rest. Alis went to sleep that night very mad at her mother; after all, many of the littlest children in the village were going; yet she was not allowed.

The next morning, things were very strange. Alis' mother and father were not up with the sun; she awoke to a silent house and a cold hearth. Her little feet trod over the packed earth of the small home to the door, rubbing her eyes, and called out sleepily, "Mama?"

It looked like they were all sleeping, everyone in the village, right at the tables where they'd eaten the night before, save the new family, Alis didn't see them anywhere. She did see her parents though... The frost clung to their faces, to the lashes of their wide-open eyes. Little children looked to have fallen onto the grass mid-dance, under long cold torches and abandoned spits, where the coals gave off little smoke. Alis' scream was a chilling sound echoing over the hills and harvested fields, but there was no one to hear her.

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It had seemed like weeks that they'd been in the tight little cart, though it had really only been a few days. Branwen idly looked out at the hills and moors as they rolled by the small window, sometimes willing the long, jolting miles to pass, sometimes wishing they could turn around and go back.

Across from her, Eiluned sat with Nimue curled up beside her, sleeping through most of the trip, her mother running her hand through her daughter's long black curls, that were so much like her own. "She'll be so much more beautiful then I, Branwen." Eiluned noted at one point, startling the younger woman out of her silent contemplation, "Even her soul, I can sense it."

"We do think those things, don't we?" Branwen murmured, thoughtfully, then shook her head, turning back to look at her friend, "She is destined for great things, I agree. But your soul is beautiful as well." Eiluned smiled back, softly, and Branwen sighed, "Eiluned...do you miss your sons?"

"I do, sometimes," The elder woman nodded, "And Nimue, bless her, she remembers her youngest brother, even though she was three when he was born. But in my explaining to her why they live elsewhere, I have come to peace with it myself." She smiled again, "Do you know, Morgaine has had eight sons?" Branwen's eyes widened.

"I knew she'd had many, but..."

"Most were born while you were a novice, or before you'd come to us at all." Eiluned nodded, "She's passed her prime child-bearing years now. Yet still, it is a comfort to talk to her on the subject." The priestess smiled, tightening her arm around her daughter, "I look forward to the day, when mine are all grown and might seek me out as they wish."

Branwen nodded slowly, instinctively slipping a hand down to the very slight swell of her waist, under her robes. Both women gave a jump then, when one of the Woad guards announced that they were in view of the walls, and Branwen felt her throat go dry. She could feel his spirit near her...

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Viroconium was buzzing with activity, when word reached Arthur that an escort from Avalon had passed the wall. He and Gawain had been watching Bors as he instructed a large group of young men in one of the fort's courtyards, on the proper use of a sword, and they were doing quite well. It would be surprising if they weren't, however, what with having Bors drilling and shouting at them for the past five weeks.

The king hastily called the rest of the day off, and both novices and knights breathed a thankful prayer. There had been many young men who'd joined Arthur's cause, and few knights to train them, so work seemed constant, but all was done in more or less good spirits. For though they were making haste, life was good enough, so they thought. The Saxons were driven off, their land had it's own king, and he was a good, just king at that. All wanted to be on his side, in all things.

Now, Arthur hurried to the square, Gawain and Bors close behind him, Galahad joining them from his spot on the walls, where he'd been instructing some of the local women (who'd shown an interest in being able to defend the home fires skillfully should the need ever arise) in archery. Under Roman rule, this would have never been an option, but after seeing the Woad women fighting alongside their men, not to mention their Queen, a few bold female inhabitants of the fort had made the request. Usually, it was Guenevere who taught them, but due to a , she'd asked Galahad to take her place, and he'd done so with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Gawain could not calm his nerves, though he tried to hide that fact, standing behind Arthur and doing his best to look stoic. His best wasn't enough, however, Galahad giving him a supportive slap on the shoulder. "Relax friend," He said quietly, then smirked, "My god, I know it's a tense day when I'm the one reassuring you."

"You'd think we were reliving his first day going out to battle the Woads," Arthur surprised them a bit by saying, turning with a smirk, "You remember that day, don't you Gawain?"

"I do," Bors chimed in, "Boy bloody pissed all over his saddle."

"Alright, alright, thank you very much, I'm fine now." Gawain sighed deeply, and there were chuckles all around. And then the cart was passing though the fort gates, and the knights stood straight; the people milling about suddenly gathering to look on in awe, knowing the marks of The Holy Isle.

The cart rolled to a stop, much as it had those months before, the Woad escorts hurrying to open the door, Eiluned descending first, followed by a very small little girl. A cloaked figure exited then, leaning a bit heavily on her escort's hand, Gawain noted with a touch of worry. Branwen straightened slowly, drawing back her hood, her face very changed from when Gawain last saw her, though no less beautiful. She seemed more pale, her eyes seemed older. She looked at him very briefly, with a slight shiver, before settling her gaze on Arthur.

"Arthur, King." She bowed briefly, yet not very deeply, wincing a bit and trying to hide it, "Your sister regrets that she could not come in person, pressing responsibility keeps her in Avalon." She seemed out of breath, but went on, putting on a smile, "Morgaine sends her love to you though, and a small, yet mighty gift, to be given in ceremony."

"Branwen, welcome." Arthur replied, warmly, "I had hoped to speak with my sister, but I am honored to have you here. Tonight we will dine, and speak of these things." He reached out and touched her arm breifly, and she nodded, her smile falling.

"There is another urgent matter, that must be spoken of in private." She murmured, "The people would be alarmed to hear of, as it involves the more...frightening powers of Avalon."

Arthur nodded, slowly. Merlin had slowly been opening his heart to the thought that power dwelt in Avalon, power that could not be ignored. His own feelings on the subject were conflicting, but he did know that the very mention of the Sacred Isle commanded respect. The king looked about quickly, and then motioned for Branwen to follow him inside...

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Arthur sat, in his private chambers, processing what he'd just been told, while the priestess of Avalon stood before him, hands folded under her robe. "You had a vision?"

"At the bidding of Morgaine, yes." Branwen nodded.

"And you do not know who was putting her in peril?"

"No." She shook her head, and Arthur sighed, leaning forward and rubbing his temples.

"I am not going to lie, I have my doubts," He replied at last, "Yet...I would be a fool not to try and keep my Guenevere from harm." He shook his head, with a wry smirk, "She won't like this, though. She's already put up enough of a fight, when I told her she could not march with us in her condition."

"Condition?" Branwen tilted her head, and then Arthur could not contain the grin that spread across his face, setting his eyes alight...

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**Author's Notes:** Wheeeee suddenly have millions of things to write, yepyep...this was actually a much bigger chapter that I had to cut down...didn't seem like it flowed very well, so now it's two chapters. Either have the next one up late tonight or tomorrow, forgive any spelling mistakes, my spellcheck went crazy this afternoon, am fixing...

Wanna know how I'm mannaging this? Heh, flu from the tenth level of hell =P There's really not much I can do at this point, other then sit around writing and watching every movie in my DVD collection.

Which reminds me, Leon: The Professional is an awesome movie. Everyone go watch it. It's violent, funny, sweet, and surreal. In that respect, it's much like King Arthur nods

I like being able to rant like this. Buy my new cd! Out in stores someday! Buy Gatorade! Fill yourself with chemicals! Wooo!

Okay Amy, too many meds...


	11. So It's There My Homage's Due

Slipping into the bedchamber adjoining Arthur's study, Branwen beheld a sight that would have been amusing, had she not been endured the same ordeal not very long before. Behind the gossamer bed curtains, Guenevere was lying and half groaning, half protesting at Vanora, who was tending to her and who by then was seven months along herself, and looked ready to burst. Branwen quirked a grin as she sat at the surprised Guenevere's bedside, sighing.

"Well...what a trio of impending motherhood we make, eh?"

"Oh Branwen," Vanora reached out and embraced the girl with a smile, and Guenevere suddenly found the spirits to be glad as well.

"Well, at least I won't be going through this hellish torture with only Vanora as comfort," She noted, with a strained laugh, "I think she's become completely numb to the process."

"You're right, I have." Vanora nodded proudly, "How far along are you, priestess?"

"A little more then three months," Branwen looked at Guenevere, "And the sickness has only just recently left me behind."

The young Queen groaned again, "Oh, you'd think I'd be able to handle this, after having an arrow pulled from my side as a child, and then my fingers broken by those damned Roman priests," She huffed, as another wave of nausea washed over her, "But I can't!" and as Branwen took Guenevere's hand, she found herself genuinely grinning from ear to ear for the first time in weeks, wondering how the Queen would react when Arthur told her that she was to be sent to Avalon for the remainder of her pregnancy.

All stress and worry left Branwen for a time, sitting and talking with the two women, all of them at different stages of their journey. And the priestess realized, with a start, that she finally felt at home once more...

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Branwen left the room after a time, stepping out into the now familiar stone hall, and letting out a small gasp of surprise. He was waiting for her outside, halting mid-pace when she made her appearance. Gawain smiled, still trying to cover his nerves, and the priestess returned the guesture.

"Would you walk with me, Branwen?" The knight mannaged to ask. Branwen idly looked down the hall, and then nodded.

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Long ago,

Your name a shadow

In my dreams

The White Brave still searching,

Raining Winds fall apart

I believe your heart...

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Beyond the fortress dusk had fallen, the mists hanging low on the green hills that rolled on toward the walls. Branwen leaned gratefully on the arm Gawain offered her, lest she trip in the shadowy light. She felt a sense of comfort then, with him beside her, a feeling she'd always had near him, she realized.

They sat beneath one of the solitary trees that dotted the landscape here and there; it's leaves fading above them in the autumn air. Branwen pushed back her hood, and for a moment Gawain simply looked at her, before he spoke, reaching out to touch the side of her face.

"Try as I might, your face has not left my thoughts for a single moment," He murmured, setting his jaw against the strong emotions her very presence evoked, "I have missed you, Branwen."

"I have missed you as well," Branwen had to look away, as the wind tried to tug her long hair free of her cloak, and her voice trembled a bit, "In Avalon, I could not find contentment, no matter how hard I tried. And in other regards as well, life has been...difficult." She looked back at him then, her dark eyes brimming, "I am with child."

Gawain's eyes widened a bit, looking at her, as his heart jumped within him. Slowly, he smiled, before realizing that Branwen was on the verge of tears. Overcome, he reached around her shoulders and embraced her, pressing a kiss against her brow. "Lady, why does this bring you such sorrow?" He asked in a whisper, and she let out a choked sob, as for the first time in her life a man sought to comfort her. She buried her face against his chest, the leather and armor and the same burgundy cloak he'd wrapped around her after her frigid bath in the sea...

"I am a priestess of Avalon," She managed, "Every year, children are born on our Isle, children who do not remain with their mothers, children who are sent off to be fostered as soon as they are weaned. Some even before then." She swallowed a sob, "Every year, women accept this as the way things are. But I can not." She rose, as she finally admitted this aloud, looking into his blue eyes that were filled with compassion, and also pain "I can not bear the thought of giving my child away. I am not that strong...and because of that, I am a failure to the mother."

"You're no such thing," Gawain protested, in a fervent whisper, and then sighed, once again reaching out to her, to brush the russet hair back from her eyes. Guenevere's voice echoed in his thoughts then...'seek not the goddess' chosen.' But looking on her, Gawain could do nothing else. "Stay with me." He heard himself say.

Branwen's breath caught in her throat. Oh how she wished...to be there in Viroconium, spending her days with Vanora, having her child in her arms, singing the songs by the fires, and Gawain...

"Why..." She finally breathed again, "We just barely know each other, Gawain." She whispered, and he nodded, looking away. She was right, and he had probably sounded like a fool. But then, he turned back, and looked into her eyes again.

"That may be so," He replied, after a long moment, a small smile gracing his lips, "Yet my soul still seeks out yours, as yours seeks out mine. And we both know that apart, they are not complete."

And Branwen knew that he was speaking the truth. From the day she had crossed the wall at Morgaine's side, the sight had been leading her toward him, and had not stopped since. She had lost her sense of home in Avalon, and now at his side, in this place, she'd found it again. Slowly, she reached out to him, and he was quick to answer her call, kissing her softly, tenderly, as the stars stepped out of the deepening twilight above. When she pulled away, Branwen laughed a bit, even as tears came to her eyes. "You're very convincing, knight." She spoke, shakily, and Gawain grinned, reaching up to dry her eyes.

"Is that a yes?"

Branwen looked away for a moment, biting her lip, thinking of Eiluned, of Morgaine...she looked back, managing a smirk as she ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, "Aye," She whispered, "Aye, I'll stay." Then she smiled fully, reaching up to brush aside fresh tears, "But knight, you'd better be falling in love with me, or so help me..."

"Oh, I'm already there." Gawain assured her, his tone serious then, "It's a new feeling for me...but," He kissed her again, this time resting a hand on the slight swell of her stomach, "I do love you, Branwen."

"You keep saying these things first." She whispered, voice and smile wavering, "It is new for me too...but I do believe that I am in love with you as well, Gawain."

"It's nice to have that cleared up." He noted, wrapping his arms around her, as she rested her head on his shoulder, shutting her eyes. For the first time in weeks, contentment swelled within the priestess, warm, absolute contentment...

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_Morgaine had told me that she'd been granted the sight twice in her lifetime, during her dreams. The first was an experience she'd spoken of often since her childhood, of seeing her brother as a grown man, carrying a banner into battle, a banner of Avalon, and the people of Britain following him and calling him their king. The second was a dream she'd told me of when I completed my rites as a full priestess, of seeing her death at a great age, and myself as the Lady of The Lake, my arms raised to part the mists, carrying her body to it's sacred resting place on the Holy Isle._

_As Gawain and myself walked back to the fortress in the starlight, I was given a premonition, and had to stop for a moment. Morgaine was atop the temple in Avalon, a sad kind of smile gracing her features. She let me see the third sight she'd been given, as she'd made Arthur's gift, hidden away in her rooms._

_It was again of Morgaine's death, and I was in the vision, yet now as a shadow lingering just beyond sight. It was not I who parted the mists, It was a maiden, younger then I would have been, with long black curls and a powerful aura around her, much more powerful then mine. She raised lithe arms above her, and I realized with the same shock Morgaine had experienced, that it was Nimue. Nimue was the one who would follow in Morgaine's footsteps as The Lady...though I apparently would still have a part to play._

"_Are you alright?" Gawain asked me, as my sight faded, and I realized that I was still standing motionless._

"_Yes," I replied, suddenly overcome with a kind of peace I'd not felt in so long, and a deep abiding affection for the man who walked beside me. "I am well." A sigh, and I leaned against him for a moment, "I am where I should be."_

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_That night, I performed my last duty as a full-fledged priestess of Avalon, standing at Eiluned's side, as Nimue carried Morgaine's gift in her arms, kneeling before Arthur's seat at the round table._

"_To keep you well in battle, the King's sister sends him this mighty gift, made with her love, and the magic that dwells on the Holy Isle." I spoke, as Arthur pulled away the linen to reveal a handsome sheath, covered in markings and runes of protection. It fit Excalibur like a glove, and Arthur was most pleased, reaching out to ruffle Nimue's curls in his jovial mood._

_None of us there knew that the sheath would indeed keep the King well for many years to come; it's powers only fading in the twilight of his life, when he would meet Nimue again. When she would carry him away from Britain, away from a long, fruitful rule, to his final resting place alongside his sister and his bride. But for now, Nimue was a carefree child, Arthur was on the verge of becoming one of the greatest kings the legends of the world would know, and I was filled with contentment, despite the uncertainty I still felt over the future. I would think on and cherish that time, as great trials were still ahead, for all of us gathered in that place..._

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**Author's Notes:** Ok, that one took simply forever to write, comparitively =P I wanted it to be just right, and fluffy, yet realistic, yet romantic, all while I myself was in a horridly cynical and ill mood XD

Luckily, I felt much better this evening. I spent the whole day in my apartment sick while my parents had a party for my nephew Aiden's first birthday =( I couldn't go, couldn't risk giving germs to all those babies, but demmit it made me sad! hehe...

Anywhoo, yes, hope you're all enjoying There's still plenty of intrigue, conflict and fluff left to cover, so stick around. Things are about to get truly exciting, oooo!

huggles Gawain He makes me feel better


	12. Birds In Flight Are Calling There

"Are you sure?"

Eiluned posed the question the following morning, as she and Nimue prepared to journey back to Avalon, Branwen bidding them farewell in the square. They had spoken of it in their room the night before as Nimue slept, and then Eiluned had been saddened, yet glad that her friend had found joy again. Still, it was hard to take in that she would no longer see her fellow priestess each day, as they greeted the dawn. Branwen reached out and hugged her tightly.

"Yes Eiluned, I am sure," She replied, "And I will still serve the mother faithfully, but I am no longer called as you are."

"I know," Eiluned nodded as she pulled away, smiling though she had to dry her eyes of tears, "But I will miss you." She looked down at Nimue then, "Bid Branwen farewell, Nimue. We will not see her again until Beltane, after the winter."

Branwen knelt to hug the little girl, and then hugged her friend again, before mother and daughter slipped into the cart. She turned then, to see Arthur and Guenevere saying their goodbyes. It was a long time before Guenevere reluctantly disentangled herself from her husbands' arms, unable to help kissing him one last time, lingering and tender. She'd not been very happy at all to leave the fort, though she took Branwen's sight very seriously. Guenevere had been brought up believing in Avalon's magic, in priestesses and druids who could look into the future. As much as she wished she did not have to part with Arthur, or miss a good fight at his side for that matter, she knew better then to resist...much.

"Farewell Branwen," The Queen murmured, drawing her red cloak around her, managing a smile though she was still very pale, "I expect I will see much of you once this business is over and done with."

"You will indeed," Branwen grinned, hugging her farewell. And then Guenevere was helped into the cart, and the doors were shut, the wheels slowly rolling it away. Branwen looked on, a sigh escaping her lips. She felt a nudge beside her, and turned to see Vanora, smiling at her softly.

"When do you expect she'll come back?" The older woman asked.

"Morgaine will know," Branwen replied, as behind her, Arthur sighed, and walked away, returning to his many duties, "Or perhaps, I will. Chances are, Arthur will face whatever force it was that has it's malice fixed on her."

"Well she's safe now," Vanora nodded, "Nothing can touch her in Avalon."

"No...." Branwen said wistfully, her mind suddenly filled with images of the island...of her home. It's wild forest; it's sacred orchards, the swans swimming through the reeds. Vanora slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"That was a very rash thing you did, some might say," She pointed out, grinning, and Branwen blushed a bit, "But very brave. What of your belongings? Your family?"

"I have no family," The girl replied, "And very few belongings. Most I take with me when I travel. Blankets...my other dress. A priestess doesn't have much need for many earthly possessions."

"Will you miss Avalon?" Vanora asked, seriously "It's more beautiful then anything in the world, I'm told."

"I'll miss it," Branwen nodded, and then looked above, to where Gawain stood on the walls, watching until the cart had left the fort safely. He turned, and smiled down at her, and Branwen grinned back. "But the goddess has given us some things that are more beautiful then Avalon."

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The evening was deepening, Pryce noted with despair, urging his horse onward. His twin sister Rhian would already be wed by now, the binding over and the wedding feast begun. She would never let him live this down, he thought ruefully, even as the fires of her home village came into view. Rhian loved him, that was certain, but she'd also never forgiven him for leaving her when they were nine, going off to live with the druids. Not that Pryce had been given much choice, their great-grandfather Merlin coming and carrying him off one day. But even now, eight years later, it was a sore subject with Rhian. He'd hoped to make it up to her as time went by, starting by making it to her harvest-time wedding. Unfortunately, it seemed he'd broken that promise.

Heaving a sigh of relief, the young man reined his horse just outside of the village, thanking the heavens that he'd at least made it before full nightfall. But as Pryce dismounted, a very strange feeling washed over his being, and he frowned. Something wasn't right in the village; it was all too deadly silent for a wedding feast. A knot of fear formed in his stomach, and he hurried through the rows of thatched roofs and stables, to the tables and fires, and stopped short in horror.

The banners were flying idly on a soft evening breeze, and somewhere a hunting dog was whining. At the two large tables, no one stirred; all had fallen over at their seats, men, women and children, young and old alike. Pryce felt his heart cry out to the mother, and he called out desperately for anyone who might be alive nearby. No one answered.

Numbly, he made his way to the center table, seeing a familiar figure slumped forward, white flowers and ribbons all in her flax-colored hair, a spilt wine goblet just beyond the reach of her pale hand. Pryce recognized the goblet, absently, he remembered it as their mother's most prized earthly treasure, saved for her daughter's wedding feast. Tears stung in his eyes as he gently lifted Rhian from the table, cradling her on his arm. A bit of blood was by her lips, and her blue eyes were wide open in shook, gazing sightlessly up at the stars...

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"This I'll never get used to, if I have a thousand children." Vanora breathed, sitting and resting inside the tavern. Branwen grinned, filling another mug of ale.

"You should rest, or you'll drop that child on the floor." She said primly, carrying the drink off to a young man who was sitting, deeply engrossed in a game of dice. It had been a week since Branwen had come to stay at the fortress, and it had been an easier adjustment then she'd anticipated. Her days were spent spinning and weaving the year's wool with the other women of the area, helping Vanora care for her children, or talking with the various locals who would often approach her throughout the day. It didn't matter that she no longer wore the robes of a priestess, the crescent tattooed between her brows would remain, fading only a little with time, marking her forever as a daughter of the goddess. The people asked her advice on everything, from growing crops to tending illness, and they always asked her to remember them in her prayers to the mother.

Evenings she took to taking Vanora's place at the tavern, scolding the woman for trying to stay on her feet so long in her condition. As much as Vanora protested, she was secretly very thankful. She may have still been young and she may have borne a dozen children already without a problem, but she was especially tired it seemed this time around. Young she was, but not as young as when she'd had her first. Vanora spent her newfound free time by Bors' side; beaming as he boasted over what a fine woman he had bearing his children, even as she tried her best to deflate his ego at every given opportunity. The men would laugh as she dealt a good verbal jab, Bors would try his best to stay angry with her, and it was an old game but always entertaining. Branwen caught sight of Gawain grinning at her across the room as the laughter faded, and she let her eyes shine back at him, her face flushed with merriment and the warmth of the room. When the night crept on Gawain would walk back to the fort with her, as they shared his room, but for now the evening was young, and there was plenty of time left to spend all together, as the following day would bring more work and more training.

Branwen moved to take a rest after a while, leaning against the wall by Gawain's side. She looked around, seeing the usual crowd of young local men, women, a few idling children, and the knights. She didn't see Galahad, but perhaps he would be along later. The youngest knight had probably found some girl to spend his time with. "Does Arthur ever spend his evenings here?" She found herself asking, idly.

"Occasionally, but usually no," Gawain replied languidly, reaching for the hand she'd rested over his shoulder, kissing the inside of her wrist, "He likes his solitude in the evenings, we've gotten used to that. And he's not taking being parted from his lady so well."

"Hasn't exactly been the jolly sort, to put it lightly," Bors added with a smirk. "Gloomy, restless, too serious...the sooner that baby's born, the sooner he'll be fit to be around." The majority was under the impression that Guenevere had gone to Avalon to ensure the safe delivery of Arthur's heir. Bors knew the truth, as Vanora had told him, but he also knew most of the people around them didn't. Plus he still wasn't quite sure what he thought of the whole business with Avalon, but he accepted the true explanation without much question.

"And the sooner we march, the sooner he'll be able to put his mind on other things," Gawain nodded, "At least, for a while anyway." His eyes rested on Branwen for a moment, and on her other hand that rested absently by her waistline, and she smirked a bit. Though they hadn't spoken of it, they both knew another parting was on the way, one that could last for a long time...

"Seems I can remember someone being just as moody, leaving a woman behind carrying his first child." Vanora remarked, looking at Bors with a grin. He coughed.

"Now what makes you think you carried my first?" He retorted, and the woman gave him a playful smack upside the head.

"Come 'on then, you were nothing more then a skittish oaf of a boy," She grinned, "There's no way I'd believe any girl'd had pity on you before me."

"Big words from a skinny little girl who'd hardly left her mama's side." Bors mumbled, though he knew she'd already won, as anyone within earshot laughed. He gave her a rare, tender smile, squeezing her for a moment, and Vanora slipped an arm around his shoulders. An odd relationship, but a loving one, no one could doubt. With a soft smile, Branwen idly wondered if they'd even said that they loved each other...they probably had but if so, not within the hearing of anyone else.

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They had sat thus for a few moments more, talking and laughing, when just as Branwen made to go back to serving drinks, Galahad hurried into their midst, a bit breathless and alarmed. "We've got Saxon trouble again," He breathed, leaning on the table Bors, Vanora and Gawain were seated at, speaking in a low tone so as not to alarm anyone near, "Up north."

"You can't tell me there are still enough of them left to be attacking..." Bors said slowly, warily, and Galahad shook his head quickly.

"I don't know...there can't be, but what's left of them are killing off entire villages in the north." He went on, in an urgent whisper, "Three men rode into the fort not ten minutes ago, one of them a druid the other two farmers, all three lost relatives in a large village up north, at a wedding ceremony. The druid says the casks of ale and wine were all poisoned. Men, women, even the little children..."

"What purpose could that possibly serve...?" Gawain breathed.

"They caught a Saxon man outside of the village, dressed as a Brit but under his clothes he had the battle tattoos" Galahad went on, "They got a little out of him. The Saxons know Arthur's marching to build an army, and they're doing their best to deny him of as many men as they can."

"By killing them all off." Bors grunted, "But Saxons aren't that smart, they've always depended on battle, violence..."

"Apparently, they've got themselves a new chieftain..."

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**Author's Notes:** bumbumBUUUM!

ahem yes, hello =)

Things are starting to happen, yes indeed, my evil plan is unfolding bwaahaahaaa

Not much to say...OOOH!

I stumbled upon this gorgeous painting by an artist I find myself very much admiring, and hmm, what DOES it remind me of? I shall try to put the link in my author bio, but in case that doesn't work, open up google, click on image search, and type in 'Mudracard' ;-)

Thank you thank you thank you for all of the reviews, you're wonderful, more to come, so never fear!


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